


If You Have Warmth to Spare (Lend it to Me)

by ladyofrosefire



Series: An Easy Way to Thaw, The Best Way to Fall [4]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Collars, Crying, Cunnilingus, Domme Natasha Romanov, F/M, Fluff, Handcuffs, Handfeeding, Harnesses, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Massage, Riding, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safeword Use, Safewords, Showers, Sub Bucky Barnes, Tea, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-02-24 10:29:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2578322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofrosefire/pseuds/ladyofrosefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>BDSM is not all about rough sex and bondage and power play, and neither is James and Natasha's relationship.<br/>This is a three (I hope) chapter look at their sweeter moments in the context of a D/s relationship. The first chapter does not have sex in it.<br/>The second probably will not, either. The third, and I really do think there will be a third, will. Probably.<br/>Chapter One: James comes home from a rough counseling session and Natasha helps him let go of some tension.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Please Teach Me Gently How to Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter title from "Shelter" by Birdy

James is pacing.

He has been pacing since he got home from the newly rebuilt (rebuilding), and hopefully Hydra-free, SHIELD. More specifically, James has just come home from yet another appointment with the counsellor Maria _ordered_ him to see if he ever wants to be considered a friendly party rather than simply neutral, much less eligible for field work.

Natasha isn’t one to jump to conclusions, but the meeting doesn’t seem to have gone well.

 

This isn’t a new thing, either. Every meeting leaves him shaken and angry, wearing a rut in her floor as he resists the impulse to leave and just run until he collapses. But he’s tried that before and they both know that it doesn’t help him past a few minutes. So he stays.

 

Natasha watches him silently as he moves back and forth in front of the window as if patrolling. His right arm is pressed hard over his diaphragm and his left is held slightly away from him.

 

His restlessness is not new. That is.

She has never known James to have a problem with his left arm, only the star on it. And that had been easy enough to fix. Tony had supplied the paint and Steve had added one white line and one black around the star’s border, marking him for each of them. Natasha had not expected it to work, but it had.

But now, he’s holding the metal away from him as if it will burn him if it so much as brushes against his side.

           

 _No_ , she realizes, looking at the tension in his shoulders and how he is gripping the fabric of his shirt in his right hand, _freeze_.

 

She keeps her tone causal and leans back in her chair as she speaks. “So what did you talk about today?”

He glances over at her, an eyebrow raised.

“You didn’t talk?”

James shakes his head and continues to pace.

“Then what did he ask you about?”

 

There’s a long, strained pause and Natasha thinks for a moment that James is not going to respond. Then he stops and closes his eyes. “Cryo. He-- he wanted to know what I remembered.”

           

And he remembers everything. She knows that. After all, the first night he spent in her home-- not in her bed-- his screaming woke her in the middle of the night. With everything Hydra made him do, this fear cut the deepest by far.

 

“Was he at least nice about it?”

“Does it _matter?_ ”

“Yes.”

“No, it _doesn’t_. I’d have reacted the same way no matter what he said ‘cause… Shit. Natenshka… I keep…”

“You keep dreaming you’re back there. I know. The… not the same thing? But I dreamt about someone finding me and taking me back and it didn’t stop for a long time.”

James looks like he’s about to cry and it breaks her heart.

“Come here, Yashka.” She resettles on their bed and holds her arms out to him.     

His shoulders slump in relief and he obeys, resting his head on her shoulder and wrapping his arms around her. His left arm really is cold. It has to be to keep the electronics working. Natasha has never really minded. He does.

“I feel… cold. Not all the time, but whenever I get… upset. Or stressed. Which is often, but…” He sighs and presses his face against the crook of her neck.

“I’ve got you. It’s alright.”

“I know…” He mumbles, voice slightly muffled.

Natasha runs a hand slowly up and down his back, pressing firmly enough to feel the knots in his back and shoulders. “ _мой голубчик_ …” She murmurs, turning her head to rest her cheek against his hair for a moment. “...Do you want me to help you take it off?”

James sighs again and shakes his head slowly without lifting it from her shoulder. “‘Preciate it, though… like how you’re thinking.” He looks up slowly. “Any other ideas.”

“A few. Need me to hold you together for a little while?”

He does not understand until she presses a finger against his neck. Natasha watches his eyes widen and is already half turning away from the idea-- not him, _never_ from him-- when he nods.

“Yes, please. Just… not sure I can…” He clears his throat.

“I understand. Wasn’t planning on asking that, anyway. Go on, go clean yourself up a bit then come back here.”

 

Natasha had realized before this part of their relationship even began that she might need to use it to help James. So she is prepared.

It only takes her a few moments to gather what she needs and strip everything but the fitted sheet from their bed. She puts a towel down on top of that.

           

James enters the room a moment later, nervously combing his fingers back through his still-wet hair.

Natasha holds out a hand to him. “Come here, Yasha.” She looks him over, sees the uncertainty in his posture and gives him a gentle smile. “Hands and knees.”

James crawls to her, his head down and his eyes half closed and downcast. Natasha watches him, her gaze lingering on the smooth shift of his shoulders and the set of his mouth. She helps him to his feet when he reaches her, kissing the corner of his mouth before nodding toward the bed.

“Face down.”

There is a moment’s hesitation before James obeys and stretches out on the towel. Natasha lets it slide. He’s too off-balance right now for her to push him.

 

Natasha waits for James to settle before she joins him, one knee on neither side of his hips and none of her weight resting on him. “Is this alright?”

James nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

Natasha smiles and combs her fingers slowly through his hair. “Do you want your collar?”

He hesitates again, then shakes his head. “Sor--”

“None of that.” She interrupts gently. “If you’re uncomfortable with the collar right now then we won’t use it. It would get in the way anyway.”

He  nods again and relaxes more thoroughly. Satisfied, Natasha reaches over to the nightstand and uncovers the bowl she’d set there earlier. It is about the size of a half a grapefruit and made of agate of roughly that color. It and two others in blue and green had been presents from sharon. They were perfect for what she was doing now.

The pink bowl is filled about halfway with gently warmed oil, lightly scented and promised not to irritate skin. The oil had been a gift from Melinda. Natasha dips her fingers in it, then rubs her hands together, making her skin slick.

James lets out a slightly strangled groan when she begins, her fingers digging into the knots in his upper back.

“I’m guessing you haven’t done this before?” Natasha murmurs.

James tenses automatically when Natasha presses on a particularly vicious knot under his right shoulder blade ( _gun side_ , Natasha thinks, _probably made from the recoil striking his shoulder repeatedly_ ) and all that comes out is a garbled “nngh- _ah_ -ow” at first.

Natasha tries not to smile when he relaxes again.

“No, ma’am.” James replied. “This would be the first…”

She is about to thank him for his demonstration of trust when James shifts and sighs heavily, sinking into the mattress.

“I was wondering when you’d start to really feel the heat.” Natasha lets her weight settle part onto him so he can borrow her body heat as well.

“S’nice…” he mumbles, “warm.”

It is why she had picked this to bring him down. Natasha watches the heat work on him as she moves her hands down his back. He’s gorgeous like this; pliant, skin shining faintly under the dim lights.

Natasha has to move down a little to get at his lower back. He seems to store tension here and, as she moves her thumb against a knot that almost feels like a stray bit of bone, James shifts and groans through his teeth. What Natasha can see of his face is tight with discomfort. Then the knot gives and he makes another sound, all breath and relief and open mouth. He starts to turn and to lift his head and shoulders and she smooths both hands up the oil-bright skin of his back, pressing him back down.

Natasha leans down, presses her chest flush against his back. “Tell me what you’re after, loverboy.”

“That an order?”

She shifts, raises her hips, and slaps him once on the ass. “Don’t get fresh with me.”

James nods and goes slack, peeking up at her with darkened, blue eyes. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be good.”

Her lips curve into a soft smile. “Always are. You’re always so good for me, sweetheart.”

He sighs as Natasha’s fingers slip through his hair, then massage his scalp. He’s either down already in the gentlest, easiest of ways, or pretty damn close to it, certainly relaxed.

“Tell me what you were hoping for?” She murmurs.

James blinks and turns his head as much as he can. “Kiss?” He swallows, then adds, “Please, ma’am?”

Natasha smiles. “Of course.”

She leans down and kisses him slowly and softly, her lips pressing his open. Her fingers curl in his hair and hold him in place until she ends the kiss. James keeps his eyes closed even after Natasha straightens up again, weight held over his hips, on her knees.

“Better?”

He nods, mouth curved into a sweet smile.

Natasha smooths her hands over his back again. “Would you like me to keep going?”

There’s another moment of hesitation, and then James nods again.

Another time, Natasha would have pressed him to reply verbally but he’s under now and there is no risk to this. She’s content to let him drift.

James makes a soft sound of protest as Natasha slides off of him. She hushes him gently and presses a kiss to the center of James’s back

“I’m going to stay right with you.” Natasha reassures him.

She works the tension out of the muscles in his legs, first right, and then left, until the only tension that remains in them is the tone of muscle memory. Neither of them can really relax perfectly anymore, thanks to their decades of fighting, but for now, he’s boneless and at ease. Natasha presses a kiss to the center of his back before shifting over to one side.

“Alright, honey. Turn over.” She tells him, her voice soft and warm and safe as a winter blanket.

James takes a moment to respond. It’s not that he’s hesitant or being disobedient. He’s simply more relaxed, physically, than he has been in a long time. When he does, it’s with liquid grace, if not with his usual efficiency. Natasha lets him get settled down again before she comes close, reaching out to brush a few strands of his overly-long hair out of his face.

“Hello there…” She murmurs.

He smiles up at her dreamily, then reaches up to play with a curl of her hair. “Hey…” James lets out a long sigh, then relaxes further into the mattress.

 

She takes that as her cue to continue.

Natasha works down his chest very carefully. It’s not a common muscle to work on, but she can do it and given the sighs of relief that fall from James’s mouth, it is appreciated. He has knots here, too, from using guns and knives and bursting the seams in every punching bag he can get his hands on. She takes care of those without letting this veer into anything past the purely relaxing.

 

She also leaves his arms alone for the time being.

Instead, Natasha works her way up his neck, then over his temples and through his hair. Her hands are sore, now, but she is almost done. Natasha takes a moment to flex them and rub them together to ease the muscles before she works her way down the fronts of his legs. She does not speak. James is not making any noise, now, except for the soft sigh of his breathing. If he falls asleep when he is this relaxed, he might not have nightmares.

 

He is still awake when she moves back up to take his right hand in both of hers. It’s not a problem, of course. James will stay relaxed for some time. For now, she just wants to finish this. She smooths the tension from his right arm, fingers brushing over knife scars and kneading out the tension from carrying weapons. She can’t give his left arm the same treatment, of course. But she holds his hand and kisses his knuckles and slides her fingers over the smooth, metallic surface until James starts to surface again, blinking sleepily, a contented smile on his lips.

 

Natasha bends and kisses him, soft and slow, and James reciprocates, his mouth opening easily for her. She pulls away with a smile and runs her fingers through his hair.

“Tea?”

He starts to speak, clears his throat, and then nods.

“Thought so.”

 

Natasha stays close for another few moments, then ducks out to start the water heating. Pepper had given them one of those fancy, automatic tea-brewers as a housewarming gift (nevermind that Natasha had owned the place for quite a while before she and James moved in officially). At the time, she had thought it frivolous, but quaint. From the first time she had used the thing, she had loved it. She’s especially grateful for it now as allows her to make them both tea and just walk away from it and back to James as soon as she presses ‘brew’.

 

He’s still waiting, calm and so at ease that Natasha is almost jealous. Almost. Instead, she’s proud of herself and happy for him. She tells him as much as she settles into the bed beside him and curls up with him, their limbs intertwined and a blanket over them to maximize the combined warmth of their bodies.

 

James makes a soft, amused noise into her hair, then yawns and laughs quietly. “M’gonna doze off…” He mutters. “The… tea…”

Natasha reaches up and brushes her fingers down over his eyes. “Shh… I’ll take care of it. Just get some rest, honey.”

The near pun gets a snort out of him and Natasha laughs as well, quietly, as she rubs lazy circles on his back.

 

A few minutes later, she hears the soft beep of the brewer over James’s sleep-heavy breaths. She decides she is too warm and too comfortable to get up.

  
Then she, too, closes her eyes.


	2. Under Cover, Hide Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha has a bad mission and James helps steady her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. I fucked up big time-- I posted this story twice. And since this version had more/more complex comments, I kept this one. However, it does mean I've had to re-upload this chapter. Oh well... Anyway, I'm working on chapter three, which does seem like it's going to have sex in it, but it might still take a sharp turn one way or another and not, so don't count on it.
> 
> Anyway, here we go again. Title is still from "Shelter" by Birdy

**_ Under Cover, Hide Away _ **

 

James has never had any illusions about who and what Natasha is.

It’s why their relationship works. Others see her and they see a woman with no weaknesses. Hell, with no emotion. They see her as skilled and in control and powerful and beautiful and deadly and all of these things are true, but she is not only this and sometimes she flounders as much as anyone else. And she has this bad habit of not taking her own advice when she’s upset. She locks down, withdraws, and refuses to share the burden with anyone.

 

He’s not about to let her do that.

 

Natasha is just recently home from a rough mission. She’s told him about it, her description clinical and precise, except for in one or two places where he knows better than to ask for details. She would have volunteered them if she wanted him to know. But it’s those same places and a few others that are weighing her down, now. Talking won’t help, or at least, not the kind of talking they will end up doing.

 

Plan B takes a little while to form.

By the time it forms, Natasha is clanking around in the kitchen, looking for takeout to reheat. She can’t cook past keeping herself fed on a mission and right now, she’s probably too frazzled to even do that. James goes into the kitchen, knocking as he passes the doorway so she’ll know he’s there-- not that she needs the help, but it’s just courteous. Then he wraps his arms around her waist from behind and holds her gently.

“I’ll handle dinner.”

 

Natasha’s sigh of relief is long and deep. As much as she needs to be active, cooking is just the _wrong_ thing to help her, now. They both know it, too. James lets go of her as she turns, waits for a moment, then pulls his collar out of his back pocket and holds it up, a finger hooked through the ring hanging from its front.

 

For a second, he forgets how to breathe. Offering her this is… new. Usually he asks or she does and they say yes or no depending on how they’re feeling. This? This is him taking the collar out of its box-- which he is allowed to do, but hasn’t, ever-- and--

He’s not asking ‘will you take control from me’.

He’s saying ‘I will give control over to you if you want it’.

 

It’s a thin semantic shift, maybe, technically, but it feels like jumping and it makes his breath come a little faster for a moment.

Natasha picks up on that, of course, and raises an eyebrow. Then she starts to shake her head and James can’t help but feel frustrated, disappointed.

“I’m… if you’ve had a rough day, I’m sorry, James.” Natasha sighs and leans into him, resting her forehead on his shoulder. “I’m just not steady enough and I’m not sure it would be the best idea.”

 

 

James puts his arms around her again and rubs her back, slowly. “I’m fine, Talia. I-- I meant, for you. You could… lean on me. Get some control back.”

Offering the second time is easier, he finds, since he has a better idea of how Natasha is going to react.

She looks up, an eyebrow arched, gratitude in her eyes. “You’re sure?”

He nods.

“Then… kneel, so I can put this on you.”

 

It’s not the same as it usually is. There’s no steel in her voice, no oak and echo. No push. But it’s still Natasha and still her command, so he goes down onto his knees before her, leaning his forehead against her hip for a moment. Her fingers card through his hair, just once, grateful, before she tips his head back. It only takes her a moment to buckle the collar around his throat, since the action is a familiar one.

James swallows against the weight of it and closes his eyes for a moment. Above him, he hears Natasha sigh. Good. This is working.

She strokes his hair again, and then moves past him toward the door. “You make dinner, I’ll set the table and find us something to watch, after.”

 

James stands and clears his throat. “Can you-- we… ah… one of the couch cushions. Would you put it by your chair?”

 

He hears Natasha stop walking, and then turns as she does to see the look on her face. It’s open and surprised and so grateful it nearly hurts to look at. Then she nods and turns away again, which means he doesn’t have to see exactly how rattled she is. He can still see the way her shoulders have finally come down.

Yeah, he’s doing the right thing.

 

He’s also supposed to be making dinner.

 

James makes penne with chicken and mushrooms and a non-dairy sauce he leaned how to make so he could stay in accordance with Natasha’s dietary rules. It’s relatively quick and certainly easy and it qualifies as comfort food, which is the priority.

Natasha comes back into the kitchen to collect plates and to pour them each a glass of ice water. She stops and kisses him softly on the back of his neck on her way out. It’s only when the gesture makes his knees go a little weak that James realizes that he’s slowly sinking under from the _idea_ of kneeling for Natasha during their meal.

He should know better than to be surprised by now.

 

James carries their bowls-- he still put the pasta in separate dishes because they’ve each gone hungry too many times to even risk _risking_ taking food from the other-- into the dining room, and then sets them down with something like a bow.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Natasha murmurs, bright laughter under the words.

Pride swells in James’s chest and he sinks to his knees on his cushion.

Above him, Natasha takes a sharp breath before reaching out and resting her left hand on the back of neck. It settles the part of him that had started to quietly panic.

 

Dinner is slow and quiet. Natasha alternates between taking a bite for herself and feeding a fork-full to James. It takes them a few tries to get it right. She smears sauce over his lips at first and once she pulls the fork back too quickly. The soft laughter is good for them both. They work out a rhythm quickly enough.

Water is a little more complicated. Natasha pours a little too quickly at one point and James ends up sputtering and coughing.

Natasha passes him a napkin and next time they get the pace right.

By the time their bowls are empty, Natasha has relaxed and James is floating pleasantly, resting his forehead on her thigh. He moves away reluctantly when she pushes at his shoulder, then gets back to his feet.

 

He can’t seem to remember how to speak, but that doesn’t matter. They gather up the dishes in companionable silence, shoulders brushing, and then go back into the kitchen to put them in the dishwasher.

Natasha, he notices, is breathing more easily. He smiles at her and she returns it, reaching up to cup his cheek with one hand, her thumb brushing back and forth over his stubble with a soft rasp.

 

“Let’s sit for a while.” She suggests.

James nods and kisses her softly. She lets him, smiling against his lips. Then she turns him toward the living room and gives him a pat on the ass.

“Get settled in.”

He walks off, chuckling, and makes a stop in the dining room to retrieve the cushion. James replaces the cushion, and then talks a moment to arrange the pillows and open up the blanket.

Natasha comes in a few minutes later, carrying two mugs of sweet, hot tea. She sets them on the end table, and then settles in against the cushions James had arranged from her. Then she pats her knee, giving James an expectant look. He nods his understanding and settles onto the couch beside her.

Usually, he would hold her, his right arm around her, her head on his shoulder. It’s convenient with the difference in their heights: a full eight inches that make it so Natasha has to go up on her toes and James has to bend a little if they want to kiss. But he can lean on her easily, so he does, resting his head in her lap and closing his eyes. He has to lie with his back to her so he can breathe easily, but that’s okay. He can look up and back to see her face. More important, he’s close to her. That’s what Natasha needs right now. Sometimes, it’s to be held and distracted, other times, she needs an anchor and a little human warmth without the feeling of anything holding her in place.

So James stays where he is, breathing slowly, half-lost in the feeling of Natasha’s fingers slipping through his hair. The remainder of his focus is on her, making sure she’s alright. He thinks she is. Her breath is slow and steady, as is her heartbeat, and her hands are steady.

 

How is it this easy?

How is it that having him under her control is enough to make the tension drain out of her? James might question how _he_ is enough, but he knows Natasha will be able to tell and then she’ll get upset. So, for the time being, he accepts it. There is something about this that helps her.

It’s enough.

 

They rest there for some time, fingers of his right hand and her left intertwined and Natasha’s right slipping through his overly long hair.

Slowly, James surfaces and stirs, turning his head to look up at her. She smiles at him, then leans down to kiss his forehead.

“Alright, sweetheart.” She murmurs, guiding him into a sitting position again. “Thank you.”

James gives her a searching look. “You’re sure…?”

She nods and nudges his right shoulder. “Go on. Get the shower heated up. I’ll be there in a minute, милая моя.”

He hesitates for a moment, and then nods and goes upstairs. He can hear Natasha moving around downstairs, presumably cleaning up, other the drumming of the water from the showerhead. Leaning against the wall, he listens, tracking her movements by ear. When he hears her coming up the stairs, James strips his clothes off and dumps them into the hamper. Then he sinks to his knees on the carpet.

The door opens a moment later and he hears Natasha give a pleased sigh. Her hands are on his neck a moment later, unbuckling the collar. It’s leather, and therefore cannot go in the shower with them. Once it’s off and Natasha has undressed, she taps him on the shoulder. James gets to his feet and steps into the shower compartment. Natasha follows him, slipping into his arms. He puts his around her shoulders and kisses her hair as the water streams down their bodies.

 

For a moment, he does not notice anything. His skin is wet and Natasha is quiet. But then he feels her shoulders shaking. James shushes her gently and holds her tighter, rocking her slowly from side to side.

“It’s okay, Natalia…” He murmurs. “I’m here.”

She hiccups a laugh, then goes up on her tiptoes to kiss him. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

James shakes his head. “Same thing I did to deserve you, darling.” He tells her softly, stroking her wet hair back from her face.

They are silent for a few minutes while Natasha cries herself out; finally shedding whatever unspoken weights her mission had piled on her.

 

“You know…” James finally murmurs, “Any time you need this, you can tell me. I don’t think I’ll say no. Or… definitely not often.”

Natasha’s smile, when she looks up at him again, is significantly stronger than it had been the last time. “I know, baby…” She replies softly, going up to kiss him on the corner of his mouth, one hand cradling his cheek. “Thank you.”

Then she steps back and takes the bottle of shampoo down from the shelf. “Now kneel. I’m going to wash your hair.”

James smiles at her, then sinks down onto his knees before her.


	3. I have never felt this way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Natasha have their first scene

Their first time is somehow completely spontaneous and meticulously planned out.

Perhaps, James thinks, that needs some clarification. Not the first time they’ve slept together-- as in sex, not cuddling. Not by a long shot. No, that was in the USSR and they would never had thought of doing-- _this_. They would not have been ready for it. And James is… still not sure that he’s ready.

 

They’ve discussed this in depth. It had started when Natasha had pinned his hands to the mattress when they were fucking hard enough to leave marks on the wall behind the bed. James had arched and groaned and nearly come on the spot. They had talked it over afterwards, Natasha drawing patterns on his chest with one finger, him twirling one of her curls around his fingers.

And it had seemed like a good idea, a _fun_ one, and useful. Natasha has days where she feels as if the earth is crumbling out from under her feet faster than she can run away from it. James has (weeks) days when he feels like he’s drowning in his memories and other’s expectations for him.

They can offer each other relief. Sanctuary.

 

And there really has been quite a lot of planning. Natasha had given him things to read-- articles and blogs of people who do this already-- so he can see what it might be like. They’ve discussed them, too, the things he has read. He’s proud of how little time it had taken him to tell her what things he does not want. It’s easy to say that he, at least for now, has no interest in being used as her table. Easier still to tell her how stories of gags make him feel panicky. Cold.

He doesn’t want to try anything involving ice. Not yet.

 

But telling her what he wants?

 

That is so much harder. He’s better at decisions than he was when he first made it back to them, the ashes of a dozen Hydra bases streaked across his face. He can think of things beyond basic nutrition and revenge and survival. He can make unessential decisions-- what kind of toothpaste he wants, whether he wants Italian or Chinese takeout that night.

 

But those are all little things and voicing the things that he _wants_ \-- the ones he feels in his bones and his soul and his aching heart-- those are things he has to struggle to put into words. Hearing a ‘no’ would be… difficult. He wants to know he’ll be allowed good things, too. And if he can’t communicate, he knows that this could _never_ work. And that they shouldn’t try.

For Natasha’s sake, if not for his.

 

James is about ready to call the whole thing off, no matter how badly he wants to try this, when Natasha hands him a clean printout of an Excel document. It’s a checklist with activities written out and explained and boxes for him to indicate how he feels about them.

Essential, curious, and a box in which he can write comments.

Questions.

 

He can do this without speaking if he choses to.

 

They sit together and fill out the lists in pencil, so they can make changes later if they chose to. Then, with bated breath, they exchange. The lists are not a perfect match, but he’s… well… it’s okay. He hasn’t lost anything he desperately wants to do, and Natasha his not encroaching on any of his major limits. This will work.

James blows his breath out in a long sigh, then wraps an arm around Natasha’s shoulders and kisses her softly on one cheek.

 

But they don’t try, not then. It’s not time.

 

They do try a few things over the next week or so without properly going into a Scene, namely James sitting at Natasha’s feet with her hand in his hair. It’s so much better than he had expected. Even without slipping under, he feels freer. Nothing is expected of him here.

 

They don’t try to have a real Scene for a while longer. Both of them know better than to make their first attempt when one or both of them is having a bad day. And of course, because they hope for a break, they don’t get one. It’s a month between when they filled out their lists and their first Scene.

 

Natasha lets out a long breath. She must be more nervous than she’s led him to believe is she’s showing so much. That, or she just wants to be honest.

James out a sigh of his own and leans against the doorjamb. The look Natasha gives him is steady and fond and it makes the knot of tension in his chest loosen just a little.

“Is there anything you want to try this time?” She asks.

He takes a slow breath so he doesn’t just say no. He does want to try, but there are so many things on that list that he had marked ‘yes’ and that he is too damn _scared_ to try right now.

“I want to stay close to you.” James says finally. “And I… May I have it?”

He looks toward a simple, yet elegant box made of dark wood. Natasha follows his gaze and nods, once, a slow, satisfied smile spreading over her face.

“Yes. May I cuff you?” She asks.

After a moment’s thought, he nods, keeping his eyes cast down.

 

James still has his gaze fixed on the floor when Natasha straightens her spine that last little bit and raises her chin, so he _feels_ the change rather than sees it.

His head comes up and a moment later his mouth falls partway open.

“Safeword?” Natasha asks, raising one eyebrow.

It takes James a moment to find his voice again. “Volgograd.” He breathes. “Red for if need you to stop. Yellow is I need you to slow down. Green if it’s good.”

“Good.” Natasha praises him. Then, “Take off your clothes and get on your knees.”

 

Something lurches in James’s chest. Her words could be an order before an execution if not for the warmth in her eyes. There is still something skittish in him, pulling his shoulder blades and his throat tight.

But he obeys.

James draws his shirt up and over his head, and then pulls his arms out of it one at a time. Natasha still has her eyes fixed on him. She’s seen him naked, much less shirtless, at least a hundred times before. But this feels different. More. He feel acutely aware of the scars surrounding his shoulder and his right hand trembles as he rolls up his shirt the way he remembers from his days in the army. He takes a moment to make sure that it won’t come undone, and then sets it on the desk. After a few moments of fumbling with his jeans, he gets the button open and his fly down. After that, his pants and socks come off quickly and easily.

Then James drops to his knees.

 

Natasha steps close and draws him forward to rest his forehead on her hip. “Are you alright, baby?” She murmurs, carding her fingers through James’s hair.

James nods. After a moment, he nods again, and, once a beat of silence has passed, clears his throat and replies, his voice muffled by Natasha’s hip. “I’m fine-- just… a little nervous, I guess.”

“I understand.” She replies quietly. “I am, too. Now… I want you to finish undressing. I have a surprise for you.”

James looks up at her, his expression a mix of nervous, mock-innocent, and eager. “Good surprise?”

Natasha rubs her nails against the nape of his neck. “I think it will be.”

“Do I get a hint?”

She pats him on one cheek, and then steps back. “No. Now I believe I gave you an order.”

His stomach swoops and James ducks his head, closing his eyes tightly for a moment. Orders. Right. He is taking them from Natasha, now, which is… Actually, it doesn’t bother him. He is just about ready to jump out his skin, but he _wants_ this.

He still isn’t very good at wanting.

James tugs his boxers off, folding them and setting them on the desk with the rest of his clothes. He has to fight to keep a blush down as he feels Natasha’s gaze wandering. He isn’t usually _slow_ to respond, but he has bad days and days when he just _can’t_ and those tend to be days or… times… when his nerves are running high.

Now, though, his blood beats hot, and his cock his hanging hard between his thighs, and Natasha notices. She raises an eyebrow. He ducks his head.

“Please don’t… don’t _say_ anything.” He mumbles.

“I wasn’t planning on it, baby. Stay there a minute-- I’m going to get your surprise.”

“Wait!” James blurts. Then he swallows hard. “Ah, never--”

“It’s okay. You need a moment.” She runs her fingers slowly through his hair. “Just tell me when you’re ready.”

They stay there for a few moments before James makes a soft, inarticulate noise and straightens up. He lets his hands rest open against his thighs. Natasha steps away and collects first the collar from the wooden box and then a sateen-wrapped bundle that shifts oddly in her arms. She hands the bundle to James. It is light and seems to hold several connected things. He cannot focus on it, though, because the collar is open in Natasha’s hands.

They are steady as she wraps it around his neck and fastens the buckle. James swallows on reflex and the collar presses against the bob of his adam’s apple. He drops his head forward to rest it against Natasha’s hip and let out a soft groan.

Natasha’s fingers return to his hair. “Good, isn’t it…?”

He nods jerkily and offers the package-- his surprise. His heart his pounding and he can’t tear his eyes away from Natasha’s hands as hard as he tries. She pulls the wrapping away and the surprise is revealed. Only it _isn’t_ , because he has no idea what she’s holding. It’s a pile of leather straps with a few metal bits. And then she holds it up and part of it falls and-- well. Okay. It takes him another moment. But he _understands_.

It’s a harness.

He’s looked at them before and thought that maybe it would be good, maybe he would like it. He had told Natasha as much. And now she’s given him one to try. It’s pressure around his body that doesn’t have to be a restraint and he-- he’s so bad at wanting, but this punches clean through him and leaves him kneeling before her with his mouth hanging open.

“ _Please…_ ” His voice comes out broken and hoarse, but fuck, he wants it. “Please, ma’am. May I have it?”

The title slips out without his thinking about it. It hits him hard and makes him… not double over, but curve his shoulders. Natasha, too, is affected. She takes a sharp breath and closes her eyes for a moment. They had not discussed titles.

“Mistress” is-- no. Too much for both of them. He is hers, but he does not belong to her. And it is too stuffy.

Miss feels too casual.

Ma’am-- it is half way between military and every single thing he had grown up with and-- oh. Oh he likes it. It rolls down his spine and settles in his abdomen, curling under the mess of emotions that are tangled up in his chest and tugging them into some semblance of, if not organization, order.

Natasha likes it, too. She closes her eyes for a moment and drinks it in, and then bends down to kiss him full and deep on the mouth. James leans up into her and starts to raise his hands to cradle her face only for her to catch them and guide them to her hips instead. She pulls back after a moment and then guides him up onto his feet, her green eyes bright and a smile on her red lips.

“Feet apart, arms by your sides.”

James swallows again and obeys.

He stands, still and silent, as Natasha undoes the many buckles that hold the harness closed. It comes open in a way that looks more than slightly precarious, but there’s confidence in Natasha’s hands and in her movements as she settles it over his shoulders and begins to re-do the buckles. There are five metal rings on it, warmed by the air in the room. One rests in the center of his back, another at the base of this spine, and the third at the center of his chest. The fourth rides low on his abdomen. The fifth, God help him, goes around his cock, but is not quite tight enough to stop him from coming.

The straps attach to the rings in some pattern James can’t really track from where he’s standing. Caring about that is a little bit beyond him at the moment. As Natasha buckles each strap, it pulls tight around him. It feels like an embrace. It makes him just a little more aware of every breath he draws in. And oh, _oh_ , he likes it. He likes the security of it and how it’s lines tell him that he is _hers_.

He groans softly and Natasha smiles, kissing the back of his shoulder. “I told you, baby. You look so good, too.” She murmurs, running her hands down his sides.

James shudders and nods

 

The cuffs are next. She picks them up slowly and shows them to him, shows him how they’re soft and padded and how easy it would be for him to snap the chain that separates them. It will be his self-control holding his arms down more than the chain itself. It soothes him a little. Enough. He still bites back a little noise-- a gasp or something-- when she buckles the first one around his wrist.

“Too tight?” She murmurs.

“N-no?” James’s voice breaks.

Natasha brings his hand to her lips and kisses the back of it, then the inside of his wrist, just above the cuff. He lets out a long, shuddering breath. Then he nods.

She waits another moment to be sure, rubbing his hand gently, and then feeds the chain through the loop at the base of his spine. It’s long enough that he can keep his arms almost at full extension. He has some freedom of movement. James tells himself that over and over as Natasha fastens the other cuff and attaches the chain. He can move his arms, but he doesn’t try. He doesn't want to feel the chains pull taut. Not-- not now.

 

Natasha’s lips are back on his neck and James sighs, interlacing his fingers behind his back. He let her lead him to their bed, her index finger hooked in the ring over his sternum. She settles onto the bed, first, and draws him after her, lying down on her side. “Kiss me,” she orders, and he does.

Her lips are soft on his and he sighs as she presses against him, the denim of her jeans rough against his cock. His hips stutter, then still, and he shakes his head. It feels foggy, everything slowed and distant. It’s a liability, he should--

Natasha cradles his jaw in her hands and kisses him again, nipping at his lower lip and James stops trying to fight it. He doesn’t want to. It feels good. Everything is falling away from him a little at a time and all that is left is desire and peace.

The next time their hips meet, James breaks the kiss. “Please, take them off?” He breathes.

Natasha pulls his hips tight against hers with a leg around his waist. It’s not comfortable.  His cock is trapped between them with rough fabric rubbing up against the sensitive underside.

“Ask me again, sweetheart?” She murmurs.

It is damn hard to talk with Natasha sucking a bruise over his pulse, but James tries anyway. “ _Please_ \-- ma’am, will you take your jeans off? Will you let me feel you, please, _please_ \--”

It’s like floodgates cracking wide open. He is swept away on the flood of his own words, a litany of _please_ and _Natalia_ that breaks and turns to incoherent moans as Natasha presses against him again, jeans and panties discarded. He nuzzles against the side of her neck, kisses softly, and she strokes his hair. She rolls him onto his back a moment later and settles astride his hips. His can pull his hands far enough apart that he does not have to lay on them. But it means he can’t reach up toward her. He can live with that, he thinks.

He manages to confine himself rutting up against her, just a little, while she unbuttons her shirt and drops it onto the mattress. He squirms a little as she cups her breasts through her bra and smirks down at him. That hits the floor a moment later, but James still has his eyes fixed on Natasha.

Her breasts are full and he knows her skin is soft and warm. He knows how she gasps and pulls his hair if he kisses her just so and he wants to touch her. He wants it like fire in his blood and his thoughts slow like bees under smoke.

 

And then he tries to reach up to touch her.

It’s a fucking terrible move because the chain on the cuffs pulls taut and for a horrifying moment, James feels trapped. His mind lights up all crimson and cracked because it is _just_ familiar enough. He falls limp, eyes wide, breathing stopped. Then he starts babbling.

“Stop--” he gasps, “Red? No-- no, I mean-- yellow.”

But he doesn’t have to say a goddamn thing because Natasha is already leaning down and pressing against him, warm and comforting

 

“It’s okay, James.” She murmurs. Her fingers are soft in his hair. “You’re in our home, you’re safe. I’ll take the cuffs off if you want me to. If not, then I just need you to tell me when you feel okay. Take your time…”

She continues to whisper sweet nothings to him while he kisses her shoulder and the side of her neck to distract himself. The flutter and crack in his chest dissipates slowly and James sinks back down into fog and sweet warmth. It shouldn’t be so easy. But he understands, he thinks. Natasha is his anchor, his rock. James leans into her and trusts her to keep him steady. He waits a few more moments before he nods and tips his face up for a kiss. Natasha gives it to him. Her hands cradle his jaw and her lips are soft against his and, despite the moment of panic, he feels safe under her.

 

He makes a noise like a wet hiccup as Natasha pulls away. James blinks up at her, opens his mouth to speak and then gives up. There are no words for what he wants to tell her. Instead, he tips his head back to bear his throat and the collar to her and relaxes fully into the mattress.

“Oh…” Natasha breathes.

She runs her hands down his sides, fingers skipping lightly over the leather straps. Then she reaches past him and pulls a box of condoms from the nightstand drawer. James ends up laughing as he watches her fumble with the wrapper for a minute.

“I feel like I’ve had too much champagne.” He tells her nonsensically, and chuckles again. “My head’s all… bubbles. I like it.”

Natasha kisses him, her mouth tugging into a smile even as she tries to deepen the kiss. “Mmm-- except this is so much better. Now. Lay back.”

She bites her lip as she rolls the condom down over his cock. His hips jerk upwards, erratic and involuntary. James can see that she is physically stopping herself from making a joke about corks and shaken champagne bottles. It means that they’re both laughing as she sinks down onto him.

James breaks off, moaning, and his hips stutter upwards. The wet heat of her burns through him, making him close his eyes and breathe hard for a few moments before he can settle down again and _behave_.

He wants to be good for her so very badly.

 

She lets him have a moment to collect himself before she begins to move. Each time she sinks back down-- and God, she’s moving so _slowly_ , fuck-- he presses up to meet her. He tugs at the cuffs again. This time he just groans and grips the fitted sheet so hard he’s worried he is going to rip it. And she keeps moving. She’s selfish about it, or as selfish as she ever gets, grinding down against him and taking every spark of pleasure she can. And it’s so much more than okay. So very good.

It’s Natasha. She’s all heat and strong thighs squeezing his hips and flushed skin. Her hair tumbles around her shoulders and a few strands stick to her face. She laughs as she brushes them away with unsteady fingers. He tries to reach up again to fix it for her and she pins his hands. One eyebrow arches meaningfully. He keeps his hands down after that.

As she grows closer, her hands roam his chest, his stomach, slip back behind her for a moment to brush against the insides of his thighs. He offers himself up to her, his lower lip caught in his teeth to hold himself in check. She hasn’t said he can’t come, but he won’t, not yet. Not until she--

James cries out and his eyes almost roll back in his head as Natasha clenches around him very, very deliberately. He shudders and his hips jerk. But he doesn’t come yet. Mercifully, she gives him a few moments before she does it again, and again, James arches and groans, scrabbling for something more solid than a sheet to cling to. But nothing presents itself to his bound hands. This, then, is half the point of the cuffs. He can’t hold onto to Natasha or the headboard or anything to anchor himself. He has to let himself be carried away on sensation.

The next time she tightens around him, James comes with a cry, hips jerking off rhythm for a moment.

Natasha rides him through it, gasping ‘yes, _yes_ ’ and running her fingers through his hair. He doesn’t have time to worry about her not having come yet before she’s pulling off of him-- he whines and closes his eyes at the loss and can’t be bothered to care about how desperate he sounds-- and shifting higher on the mattress. There’s a pause while she removes the condom and disposes of it. Then there’s a pillow supporting his head and Natasha’s thighs are pressing against his ears. The fingers in his hair, guiding him up, are completely unnecessary, but he’s grateful for them nonetheless.

James presses his mouth to the wet heat of her cunt. He knows how she likes this. How to curl his tongue just so to make her back arch and her legs tense and tremble. How to kiss her. How she likes the barest hint of teeth-- not a bite, but a brush sending a thrill up her spine. She grinds down against his mouth and he can feel her wetness on his face. She was close when she settled over him, so it isn’t long before she’s tensing and coming undone.

She’s never been loud about it-- a gasp, her mouth dropping open, her eyes squeezing shut. Her eyebrows furrow like she’s focusing hard on something and she goes tense all over. He can picture it now, easily. He’s almost smiling as he licks a final stripe up to her clit, just to hear her gasp and to feel her twitch backwards. Then Natasha is spilling down beside him, all liquid contentment and fiery hair.

He turns enough to nuzzle against her shoulder, letting the smile come to his lips. She wraps her arms around him and rubs his back while her breathing slows and steadies. By the time that both their bodies have settled into some sort of equilibrium, James can feel the bubbly, foggy feeling in his head dissipating. He lets it go with a sigh.

 

Natasha sits up, slowly, and stretches. He can see her hands trembling just the tiniest bit. James struggles upright and leans against her, chin on her shoulder, his chest against her back. One of her hands settles in his hair, stroking gently. Then she sighs and turns. Once his wrists are out of the cuffs, she rubs them to ease the strange lightness in his arms.

He’s unsteady on his feet, and he thinks she might be, too, but it’s nothing unmanageable. Natasha scatters kisses over his shoulders as she helps him back out of the harness. That, too, has him feeling light, and so he reaches out to draw her into an embrace. She slips into his arms and he rubs circles over her back.

Finally, she clears her throat and steps back. “That was…” She blows out a long breath and smiles. “Amazing.” She finishes. “Let’s get some water and we can talk?”

James nods and kisses the corner of her mouth, ignoring the face she makes at the taste on his lips. “Mmm… and M&Ms? Do we have any?”

 

She chuckles and shoves lightly at his shoulder. “I’ll grab some. You go wash up a bit. I’ll be right back.” Natasha takes a step back, and then pauses. “Are you alright with me stepping away for a moment?”

James looks at her. It seems, to him, that she needs a moment to breathe, and he no longer feels like he’s come apart at the seams. “Yeah.” He smiles reassuringly and takes her hands n his to kiss the back of each. “I’ll keep the bed warm.”

 

Natasha smiles and slips a hand free so she can cup his cheek. Her thumb brushes back and forth idly.

She says nothing, but he understands. Thank you. I love you. He kisses her palm so she knows for certain that he has received her message.

 

She goes to the door. He starts toward their bathroom.

 

“James?” She calls, and he turns. Natasha is smirking gently. “You were good. Thought you should know.”

 

His stomach flips pleasantly and James laughs, ducking his head.

“Yeah.” He replies, raking a hand back through his hair. “You were, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can send requests, comments, and questions to ask-ladyofrosefire.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> translation: мой голубчик= my poor darling


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